


Open Up All the Faucets (Be Fruitful and Multiply)

by dharmaavocado



Category: Biohazard | Resident Evil (Gameverse)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Fix-It, M/M, Off Screen Violence, off screen medical procedures
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-17
Updated: 2020-05-17
Packaged: 2021-03-02 22:15:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,193
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24224170
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dharmaavocado/pseuds/dharmaavocado
Summary: Claire dug the knife back into the apple, ignoring the juice that ran down her hand.  “Heard Leon and Sherry were in town, and its way past time for another meeting of the Raccoon City Survivors Club.”  She raised her right fist in a show of solidarity, only to frown and lick the juice off.  “And then since I was already here, I figured it’d be rude not to stop in and see your boy.”“He’s not—” He bit off the protest, but it was too late; Claire had already taken that as confirmation.  “That was thoughtful of you,” he said, careful.“Yeah, I’m a real sweetheart.”  She cut around a brown spot.  “Imagine my surprise when I found out that I’m the only Redfield who bothered to visit.”In which they live and Chris gets his shit together.
Relationships: Chris Redfield & Claire Redfield, Piers Nivans/Chris Redfield
Comments: 5
Kudos: 85





	Open Up All the Faucets (Be Fruitful and Multiply)

**Author's Note:**

> Title taken from the Mountains Goats' song _How to Embrace a Swamp Creature_ , which almost ended up being the title, but that seemed a little too on the nose even for me.

His coffee had long since grown cold when Claire collapsed into the chair next to him, kicking her feet up onto the table and almost sending the cup flying. Chris caught it before any coffee could spill over his half-eaten sandwich and the lone apple he grabbed out of a vague sense he should eat something healthy. 

“Watch it,” he said, grateful that the mess was empty this late at night; Claire had that shit stirring look to her. “I’d ask who raised you but I unfortunately know the answer.” 

“This is on you,” Claire agreed cheerfully. 

She snagged the apple and pulled a knife from her boot. When she was a kid, he made the mistake of letting her watch a movie where the heroine ate an apple by slicing off individual pieces with a switchblade, and ever since she refused to eat them like a normal person. Given how young she’d been, it was inevitable she’d cut herself despite his best efforts, and the second time he rushed her to the emergency room for stitches, he was convinced their social worker was going to take her away. 

“Careful,” he said, even though Claire was no longer in danger of the knife slipping her grasp. She wasn’t a kid anymore. Hadn’t been for a long time, and he was the only one continually surprised by it. “You’ll cut—” 

“My damn thumb off, I know.” She sliced off a piece, chewing it open mouthed just to be obnoxious. 

Chris barely repressed the urge to roll his eyes. Some things never changed. “Not that I’m sad to see you, but what are you doing back? I thought you were still on the west coast.” 

“We wrapped up early. There was no real threat. The suits were just jumpy.” She dug the knife back into the apple, ignoring the juice that ran down her hand. “Heard Leon and Sherry were in town, and its way past time for another meeting of the Raccoon City Survivors Club.” She raised her right fist in a show of solidarity, only to frown and lick the juice off. “And then since I was already here, I figured it’d be rude not to stop in and see your boy.” 

“He’s not—” He bit off the protest, but it was too late; Claire had already taken that as confirmation. “That was thoughtful of you,” he said, careful. 

“Yeah, I’m a real sweetheart.” She cut around a brown spot. “Imagine my surprise when I found out that I’m the only Redfield who bothered to visit.” 

He winced, which was as good as an admission. “Don’t think he wants to see me right now.” 

“Bullshit,” she snapped, pointing the knife at him. “Kid was looking for you. Pretty sure he thought I was you for a moment. Should have seen his face when he realized I was the wrong Redfield. I felt like I kicked every puppy he had growing up.” 

“How is he?” he asked. 

“How do you think? He’d been pumped full of a virus.” She sliced deeper into the apple. If she wasn’t careful she’d split the core. “Heard they tried to cut the arm off but it didn’t take.” 

“It has extensive regenerative properties. The doctors gave up after the third surgery when he kept coming out of the anesthesia.” He drank the cold coffee. His throat had gone dry. 

“Shit,” she said with feeling, flicking an errant bit of the peel onto the table. “What about that Mueller kid’s antibodies? Thought that was the whole point of trying to bring him in.” 

She popped another slice into her mouth, and Chris said, reflexive, “Chew with your mouth closed.” She gave him the finger. “The antibodies stabilized him, but it’s not a cure. There isn’t one. Or not one that exists right now.” 

“And mentally? He seemed all there.” She kindly ignored his flinch. They both knew what the virus did to a person. 

“His mental faculties are intact,” he said, “but the physical changes are likely permanent.” 

No one knew what recovery would look like, but everyone knew there was no going back to how he was before. Piers was stuck like this, for however long that may be. 

“That’s a tough hand he’s been dealt.” Claire spun the knife, the flat of the blade passing harmlessly over her knuckles. She’d always been a show off. “He asked about you, by the way. Seemed to think you been sent back out into the field. Was real worried you didn’t have anyone watching your back.” 

Chris may have lived through a lot of shit, but at heart he wasn’t brave enough to meet his sister’s gaze. “You can just say it, you know.” 

The knife stopped. “Say what?” 

“That I’m an asshole.” 

The knife went into the apple. “I don’t think you’re an asshole.” 

“Bullshit. There was a few years there you hated me.” 

“I was fifteen. I hated everyone. That doesn’t count.” The knife came out of the apple. “Hey, come on, it’s me. What’s really going on with you?” 

Claire never let him hide, not even from himself, and god did he love her, his baby sister who thought he was a good man despite all evidence to the contrary. 

“You’ve seen the report?” he asked, and she nodded, although god knew how she got her hands on it as it was classified to hell and back. “Then you know I got my men killed.” 

“I forgot how fucking stupid you can be,” she said, a careful softness to the words. She dropped her feet to the floor. “People die, especially in our line of work. Me and you, we make it through, but a lot of them don’t. But that’s why we keep doing this fucking job, because we know what happens if we give up.” 

“This isn’t Arklay or Raccoon City,” he said, clenching and unclenching his fists. “These men were under my command. They followed my orders. It’s on me.” 

“It is, but it’s not _all_ on you. They knew what they signed up for, and it was their choice to follow you. It was _Piers’_ choice, and you don’t get to take that from him just so you can feed your shitty martyr complex.” 

“I don’t have a mar— _motherfucker_!” She kicked him again in the shins with her goddamn steel toed boots. “Stop it!” 

“Not until you stop being a dick,” she retorted, and delivered a blow that was going to leave a vicious bruise. “This isn’t about you. This is about Piers, and for whatever reason the kid needs you right now, you asshole!” 

“What was that about not thinking I'm an asshole?” he said, which earned him a boot to the thigh that hurt like a son of a bitch. 

“You’re acting like one.” She pointed the knife at him. “Look, I get that you have baggage. God knows we all do, but this really isn’t about you. It’s about that kid with a fucked up arm. So get your shit together and be there for him.” 

“You think I’m not trying?” he said, shoving away from the table. “You think I don’t know what he needs? I told him that he was going to make it. I _promised_ I’d save him.” 

It was the only thing he could think to do to get Piers into that escape pod with him. _Not you_ ,he’d begged, frantic and desperate. _I won’t let it be you._

It was very quiet and his breathing was very loud. Claire set apple and knife down with great care, and then she was out of her chair and crashing into him, arms tight around his neck, like when she was still small enough to carry. 

“You’re so dumb,” she said. 

“I know,” he said, hugging her back as she pressed her face into his shoulder. He stroked a hand over her hair like he used to do when she had a nightmare. 

Her fingers dug into the back of his neck. “It’s not your fault.” 

“It is, a little bit, and it should be.” 

“Bullshit,” she said again, gentle. She pulled back so that he had no excuse but to meet her gaze. “I don’t know what went happened between you two, but I do know the kid didn’t come back because he thought you could fix this. He likes you.” As his confused stare she rolled her eyes. “You know, _likes_ you.” And then as if she was worried he still missed her point, waggled her eyebrows in such a lewd fashion he felt scandalized. 

“Oh my god,” he said, dragging a hand down his face just so he wouldn’t have to see Claire’s smug face. “It’s not like that.” 

“Uh-huh, sure,” she said, and when he chanced a look her eyebrows said otherwise. 

“It’s not,” he insisted, although it was a losing battle. “And stop calling him a kid.” 

She snorted. “I read his file. He’s younger than me.” She sat down and kicked her feet back up onto the table. “You’re a goddamn cradle robber.” 

“Jesus Christ,” he said, trying to ignore the way the back of his neck flushed hot. “If I go see him will you drop this?” 

“You know me better that that.” She took up knife and apple again, cutting off another sliver she offered to him. “Eat your apple and go talk to him. You’ll feel better.” 

He ate the apple slice. It seemed easier than arguing. He made a face; it was too tart. 

Claire rolled her eyes. “It’s good, you big baby.” She took another bite, once more chewing with her mouth open because at heart she was still that bratty kid who refused to do as she was told. “And tell your boy I said he’s welcome.” 

“He’s not my—” He gave up. “Fine, I'm going.” 

Her laughter chased him out. 

* * *

Medical was separated into two wings: one above ground for those with the usual injuries, and then a secured location underground for those with the unusual injuries. Piers was recovering in the latter, as if he was a secret the BSAA was trying to hide. But the thing about secrets was that sooner or later they got out. The BSAA knew that better than anyone. 

His id card got him access, which meant his clearance hadn’t been revoked yet. There’d been rumors about that, as if the higher ups were afraid he would do something rash. Chris didn’t blame them. He knew the lengths a desperate man would go to. 

At the security checkpoint, the nurse on duty greeted him with a curt nod. He didn’t see her sidearm, which didn’t mean she wasn’t carrying. She’d been a field medic before taking permanent assignment at base, and probably saw more shit than even him. 

“Visiting hours are over,” she said. 

“We both know there’s never been visiting hours.” He tried on a smile. Judging by the arch of her eyebrows he suspected it came out more exhausted than charming. “You let my sister in.” 

“Because I like her.” 

“Please,” he said. 

She studied him for a long moment before unlocking the gate. “You have twenty minutes.” 

“Thank you.” 

“This has nothing to do with you,” she said. “He hasn’t been sleeping.” 

He’d heard that, too, how Piers had been awake for three days and counting. No one liked the implications. 

“Twenty minutes,” he agreed. 

Before he made it a couple of steps, the nurse cleared her throat pointedly. “You know the rules. Hand it over.” 

He placed his sidearm in the bin she provided. He never tried to be without it, not since Arklay. Felt wrong to be unprotected. “I need to sign anything?” he asked just to be a shit, and was treated to an unimpressed stare. 

“Your twenty minutes have begun. This how you want to spend it?” 

“No,” he said quietly, and set off. 

Piers’ room was located exactly halfway down the hall: close enough to the checkpoint that a team could be dispatched quickly if needed, but far enough away to give ample warning in case Piers, or the virus, tried to break out. It was protocol, one that Chris helped write when the BSAA was still going through its birthing pains. It should be him suffering the consequences. 

He hesitated at the door. This was far as he made it last time, after the first failed surgery. He’d had some vague notion of being there when Piers came to, let him know he wasn’t alone. Couldn’t do it, in the end. He never was as brave as everyone made him out to be. 

Well, like Claire said, it was time to get his shit together. 

He opened the door, unsurprised to find Piers sitting up in bed and turned towards him, waiting. 

“Captain.” 

“Piers,” Chris said, and shut the door behind him; a formality, given the many surveillance devices tucked into every inch of the room. “You look good.” 

“Go fuck yourself,” Piers said. 

He snagged a chair and dragged it to the bedside. “I’m serious.” 

Piers glared suspiciously at him, as if he thought Chris was that much of an asshole he’d make of fun of a man in a hospital bed. 

It was true, though. Piers was looking, if not good, then better than the last time Chris saw him, when he was being wheeled into surgery, eyes rolling in his head and arm thrashing. His face had healed but for a few thin line of scars barely worth mentioning. The eye was still white, although some color was starting to bleed back. Wouldn’t ever be like it was, but Piers could probably get away with just a pair of aviators to mask it. 

The arm, though, well, there was no hiding that. It had more in common with a cephalopod’s tentacle than anything human, tapering to thin tendrils that curled and coiled around itself. It was tucked close against Piers’ side, shifting slightly as if it knew it was being watched. The doctors tried to bandage it at first, and when it broke through the wrappings they tried to strap it down. It ripped through the constraints within minutes, and after that they gave up, having no choice but to trust in Piers’ control. 

“Huh,” Piers finally said, apparently satisfied Chris wasn’t mocking him. “Thanks.” 

“You’re welcome.” That earned him a scowl, and he had to fight back a smile. Piers could be a pissy shit, and Chris wasn’t above provoking him on occasion. 

“Oh, fuck off,” Piers muttered, catching on as quickly as ever. “The hell are you even doing here this late?” 

Chris eyed the arm, but he couldn’t tiptoe around the thing forever. He kicked his feet up on the bed, the soles of his boot dangerously close to the arm. It recoiled a bit before Piers transferred the scowl to it, and it obediently stretched out again. His control was getting better. That was a good sign. 

“Figured it was past time for I paid you a visit,” he said. 

“And your timing has nothing to do with your sister dropping by?” Piers said dryly. 

“What gave you that idea? Although I do feel like I should apologize for her.” 

Piers ducked his head a little, although his gaze never wavered. “She’s nice.” 

Chris snorted. “No, she isn’t.” 

“She talked about you,” Piers said. “About how you took care of her after your parents—uh—” 

“Died.” It’d been long enough he could say the word without flinching, pain long since faded into a manageable ache. “It was just her and me. I tried my best to give her as normal life as I could, but Claire’s always gone her own way.” 

Piers smiled. “Yeah, I can see that. She’s what my grandfather calls a firecracker.” 

He matched Piers’ smile. “She really is. What about you? What’s your family like?” 

“Just my mother and her parents.” He laughed, bitter. The arm rippled. “I wonder how the fuck they’ll take this.” 

There was very little benefit to being an orphan, but some days he was grateful his parents weren’t around to see what the world had become. He didn’t have to worry about them being caught in a bioterrorist attack or of them waiting for him and Claire to come home, wondering if this would be the time they got themselves killed. 

But then again, if they lived he might never have met Piers. 

“I think,” he said, “they’ll just be happy you came home.” 

The arm damn near roiled, but it was nothing compared to the way Piers’ jaw went tight. “Because who wouldn’t want this for a son?” he spat. 

“You’d rather they mourn you?” 

It was the wrong thing to say. The arm tensed, and for a moment he thought Piers might actually take a swing at him, and he hoped to god he still had enough authority to call off the containment team when they descended. 

But then, just as quick as he was to anger, the arm went lax. Piers blew out a breath, and said, “Claire warned me you were shit at this. I thought she was exaggerating.” 

“She was downplaying it, if anything,” Chris said, accepting the olive branch. 

“Apparently.” Piers breathed in deep and tipped his head back, and Chris could make out the lines of infection that crept from Piers’ shoulder up over his collarbone. They were fainter now than when Piers first injected himself with the virus, and Chris held out hope this at least would heal. “Why are you really here?” 

“I told you,” he said. “It was past time I came to see you.” 

“You’ve seen me.” Piers gestured to himself with his good hand. “So you can stop feeling guilty.” 

“That’s not what this is about.” 

“I’m pretty sure it is,” Piers said, stubborn jut to his chin. 

No wonder Claire liked him. They were the same, picking fights to hide how damn hurt they were. 

Chris breathed deep and waited until Piers met his gaze. “I made you a promise, remember?” 

The tendrils and Piers’ fingers flexed before he forced himself to stillness. “I’m not going to hold you to that. I know you only said it to get me into the pod.” 

“Hey, fuck you,” he said. “You don’t get to decide whether I meant it.” 

He got that irritated glare that meant Piers was losing patience. “I just figured that if you did mean it,” Piers said tartly, “you wouldn’t have stayed away so long.” 

And there it was, the moment where the lie gave away. Well, it wasn’t like he didn’t know it was coming. It was actually a relief. He could finally stop pretending. 

“You know why I joined the BSAA?” he asked, not expecting an answer. Everyone knew about his history. It was passed through the ranks, a damn campfire story of how he survived the Arklay Mountain incident, how he spent the years since chasing down Umbrella and Wesker until nothing remained of either. How there wasn’t a BOW created that could kill him. Not yet, anyway. 

“You know I do,” Piers finally said. He was still now, arm coiled docilely against his side. 

Chris found and held Piers’ gaze. “I’m not like you. If I hadn’t lived through all that I don’t think I would have joined the BSAA. I’d have found a safe place for Claire and me to hole up, and I’d never leave if I wasn’t forced to. But you—hell, Piers, you joined on your own, even knowing what it could cost you. You’re a better man than me.” 

“That’s not true,” Piers said. 

Chris leaned forward, bracing himself on the bed, hand nearly touching Pier’s arm. “It is.” 

Piers looked down, his jaw working for a long moment before he said, “So when you said you wanted to retire, you meant it.” 

“I did.” 

“And now?” 

He may not be as brave as everyone thought, but he could make the effort. He closed the distance, wrapping his hand around where Pier’s wrist would have been. The skin was cooler than perhaps normal body temperature, but it wasn’t unlike taking Piers’ regular hand: terrifying but in the way that wanting someone and hoping they wanted you back was terrifying. 

“That depends on you,” he said. 

The arm twitched then went suspiciously still, as if Piers was doing his best not to scare him off. As if Chris could be scared off. 

“I don’t know if they’ll ever clear me for field work again,” Piers finally said. “I don’t even know if they’ll even let me out.” 

“They will,” Chris said. “And if they don’t, there are other options.” 

Piers eyes widened, and Chris was right. There was color soaking back into the white iris. “Are you suggesting a jailbreak?” 

Chris laughed for the sake of the surveillance devices. He tightened his grip on Piers arm, and said, sarcastic as he could manage, “Of course I’ll break you out.” 

“Sure you will, Captain,” Piers said, mouth sliding towards a smirk as he caught on. Under Chris’ palm, the tendrils uncoiled. 

“I even got a clever plan involving a fake mustache,” Chris said. The tendrils slowly curled around his wrist and slid between fingers. Careful, was the only word he could think to describe it. Piers was being so careful with him. He swallowed and, as he always knew he would, gave in. 

Piers’ gaze dropped to his mouth, and he said, loudly, “Hey, think you can smuggle me in some decent food?” 

Chris jerked back, but Piers grip kept him from going too far. Piers’ eyebrows rose meaningfully. 

Right. They were still being watched. 

“There’s no way I’m getting anything past the nurses.” He turned his palm over, sucking in a breath as the tendrils flowed along his lifeline. 

“I'm sure you’ll figure something out, Captain,” Piers said. 

He snorted, but it came out more like a sigh. Yeah, that was definitely a smirk. 

The intercom crackled to life, and the nurse said, “Time’s up, Redfield.” 

He carefully didn’t frown or scowl. “Copy,” he said, and as he stood the tendrils reluctantly trailed over his palm as Piers once more coiled his arm close. 

“I suppose I’ll see you around,” Piers said. His chin was tipped up, and for a moment Chris wanted to burn it all down, wrap his hand around Piers’ throat just to feel his pulse spike, let Piers grab him with those tendrils and drag their mouths together, slick and messy and filthy, proof that they made it— _alive, alive, alive—_ and fuck everything else. 

“You will,” Chris said, voice gone low and rough as if Piers had already ruined him. Piers’ arm pulsed. 

“Now, Redfield,” the nurse said. 

“You need to go,” Piers said. 

He forced himself to back up, hands clenched and shaking from how much he wanted. “You need to get some sleep.” 

“Don’t really do that anymore,” Piers said, a rueful twist to his mouth. 

The door was at his back. “Try, for me.” 

“For you,” Piers agreed, turning away. 

Chris opened the door and stepped back into the hall, blinking rapidly under the sharp light. He allowed himself one moment of thinking about Piers’ arm in his hand, of Piers’ mouth under his, before shaking it off. He still had a job to do. 

At the security point, the nurse passed over his firearm. “You know they’ll review that.” 

“I know,” he said, and holstered the gun. 

She shook her head, and said, “Get the hell out of here.” 

That was the plan, but he was smart enough not to say it. He nodded and left the wing, unsurprised to find Claire waiting for him outside the final security door. 

“Well?” she said, pushing away from the wall and falling into step with him. 

“Well what?” he said just to be an asshole. 

She scowled, but it shifted to a smile a minute later. “Jesus, you really are a cradle robber.” 

“If I am,” he said, “then what does that make Jill?” 

Claire went pink about the cheeks. “None of your damn business.” 

He wished he’d been wrong about that, but Claire always went her own way, damn whatever the consequences were. And by god did he love her for that. 

“So,” she said quietly once they were at the exit, “we staging a jailbreak?” 

He shook his head. “Not yet. Let’s see what decision comes down first.” 

“Just say the word and we’ll be there.” 

“We?” he asked. 

“Me and Jill,” she said, like it was that easy. “What, did you think she’d miss this?” 

“No,” he said fondly, “she wouldn’t.” 

“Damn right she wouldn’t.” Claire threaded their arms together, something she used to do as a kid when it was just the two of them against the world. “Come on, let’s get out here. I’ll even let you buy me breakfast.” 

“How kind of you,” he said, rolling his eyes. 

“I told you,” she said cheerfully, “I’m a real sweetheart.” 

“You’re something,” he said, and together they stepped out into the weak dawn light as the sun came up. 

**Author's Note:**

> Let this work stand as an artifact of the quarantine, because sometimes you're eight weeks into a lockdown and need background noise while you knit so you put on a let's play of a terrible RE game, and then you get invested against your will, and you want a specific fic that doesn't exist, and you realize you gotta do everything yourself.
> 
> So here we are, friends. I'm not sorry.
> 
> As always I'm on [tumblr](https://dharmaavocado.tumblr.com/).


End file.
